Prodigal

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Caranthir does not make a good first impression on his soulmate.  All Sindarin names here!  This piece is heavily related to "Transparent" and "Addicted", but is also connected to "Afterlife", "Ballad", "Forward" and "Edge" amongst others.  Basically explains exactly why Caranthir gets completely and totally rejected in "Transparent".  Takes place in the southern regions of Thargelion in the First Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: one-sided Caranthir x Haleth

Characters: Haleth, Caranthir, random elves (mentions Haldad and Haldar)

Warnings: canon-compliant AU, non-canon relationship implied, sexism, misunderstandings, slight sexual undertone, fictional Easterling culture references, lots of pride causing issues

Song: Legacy

Words: 1,835
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
prodigal (adjective): characterized by profuse or wasteful expenditure: lavish; recklessly spendthrift; yielding abundantly: luxuriant
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/prodigal

Honestly, her first sight of the Noldor--who had supposedly laid claim to these lands and governed the peoples who made their home here like a master governs his servants--did not make a good first impression.  In fact, as Haleth watched them canter up to her exhausted, battered and starved people, they left the rotten, tinny taste of disgust in the back of her mouth.

It was in every ounce of their beings, that mockery.

Their horses were large--warhorses bred and born to carry heavy armor and their riders both into battle without tire.  Sleek, they were also, and so well-groomed that she couldn't help but wonder with no small bit of malice if these elven warriors had stopped just this morning to brush and trim these beasts so that they might outshine polished marble in the light of the sun.  Not only that, but the saddles were of hideously fine make--good leather wasted on something that looked more decorative than practical, covered in brilliant stones and inlaid with silver designs.  And beneath that was a rich saddle-blanket, each horse's attire was easily enough to clothe a fully-grown man or woman.

She supposed it was meant to be an impressive display--like a colorful male bird preening its vivid feathers or stag brandishing its large, sharp antlers before an opponent.  To her, it simply appeared wasteful and insulting.  As though they were smearing her nose in the dirt.  Making clear exactly how far apart their peoples were.

Yet, garish though their mounts might be, the horses compared not to the procession of the elves themselves, heads held high and arrogant from their perches upon their saddles.  Mockingly inclined.  The masters sneering down their noses at the dirty, flee-infested slaves.

It was in their glistening, cold and arrogant eyes.

Their horns blew deafeningly as they returned from chasing off the remaining orcs--as if an announcement was necessary to see them galloping up the barren turf, dark locks flowing from beneath metal helms that glistened blindingly.  Even as they drew nearer, she noticed that their clothing was worse still than their flamboyant saddles.  Brightly arrayed, they were, in the visage of greed; and their leader not the least of them, dressed more for a festival or ceremony of ludicrously great important than for messy, dirty warfare.  His outfit alone, sold in the east, could have fed her entire village for a week if she judged true the amount of encrusted silver and ruby laid onto finely-woven fabric.  And above his head rested a crown, fine vines of twined moonlight, woven into glossy black hair.  A symbol of his supposed superiority, no doubt, to match the rest of their extravagant procession.  Just looking upon them, Haleth was leery and angry, almost ready to turn on her heel and march away before they had even arrived.

But her pride would not allow her to show any sort of weakness before these disdainful creatures in their shining armor with their perfect faces.  It would not allow her to act like an immature filly before these prancing stallions.  Nor would it allow her to be grateful or thankful for their intervention on behalf of her kin.  To show any sort of empty gratitude would be to lower herself before them.

Instead, she stood her ground as their leader--the only elf whose face was not bracketed in gleaming, design-laden silver--rode right up to her and did not even bother to dismount his gem-encrusted steed before parting his lips to speak.

Immediately, she disliked him to her very core.

"My lady," he greeted, voice deep and somewhat rough. "Forgive our lateness.  Would that we could have arrived sooner.  Perhaps more lives could have been spared."

She might have made a noncommittal noise rather than an affirmation.  Better that than the insult she immediately wanted to spit in his direction for daring to imply that her valiant people needed his help.  As though it was his arrival alone that facilitated victory after near seven grueling days of battle.  As though they, stupid men that they were, could not take care of their own without the help of their betters.

(Never mind that his forces had been instrumental in the defeat of the enemy.  The mere thought of admitting such a travesty aloud, let alone thanking them for it, left her feeling sick.)

The very timbre of his voice made her bones ache in fury.  If their looks--the stars of their eyes glistening in the shadows of their helms, had been mocking, his voice was thrice and tenfold as such!  Such remorse could only have been feigned, for she knew he cared not about her kin.

"It grieves me to see such loss," he blatantly lied, his face betraying not a droplet of sorrow.  His unblinking dark eyes swept across the bloodied grass covered in the dismembered and half-eaten bodies of her more unfortunate kin--her brother and father amongst them--mixed with the rotting corpses of those monsters which had been slain in defense of their homes. "Nevertheless, I must congratulate you and your warriors.  Such valor rarely have I seen even from my own men.  You and your people are most impressive."

It took every ounce of power to grind out a "Thank you, my lord," in response.  Not in a thousand years would she admit to being even slightly flattered.  Because she wasn't.

His head bowed, eyes meeting hers from where he towered above her.  A perfectly symmetrical face prettier than that of most women stared blankly down at her.  She could not tell if he had been sarcastic or was merely trying to gain her admiration with his distant, courtly gestures and soft-spoken, empty words.

"Please, call me only Caranthir." His smile was but the slightly upwards twisting of the corners of his thin lips. "And would you honor me with your name?"

Judging by the way his eyes strayed over the rest of her, she would have guessed the latter.

"Haleth, daughter of Haldad."

"Are you the leader of these people, my lady Haleth?"

Not only was he arrogant, but a misogynistic pig.  She could swear that she heard a scoff of disbelief in his voice.  A greater insult, he could not have offered.  Not even by riding in like an egocentric, prodigal prince on his mountain of gold and jewels and ceremony, flaunting himself before those he considered lesser than his greatness so that they might know their place.

"My father, our chieftain, and my only brother were slain in battle." Haleth raised her chin, jutting it out in defiance as she held his gaze solidly. "So I suppose I am the chieftain now."

Surprisingly, this did not seem to deter the elf in the least.  Anger did not sizzle to life in the depths of his narrowed green eyes.  Instead, it only seemed to greater capture his attention.

"If that is so then I have an offer, my lady--in recompense for the lateness of my host in defending our lands." Our lands, not my lands, her inner voice snarled.  Who gave you the right to claim these lands as your own and hand them out as if we require your blessing? "If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own."*

He might as well have stabbed her dignity in the gut and twisted his sword until its innards were reduced to mush!  Their protection and friendship?  These creatures no more wanted to befriend her kin than they wanted to spend time guarding them!  Just the way they looked upon her sweaty, filthy people reminded her of the way nobility out east looked upon vermin scurrying across the floor.  And to think that this... this... man also thought that she needed his protection!  Haleth felt her stomach positively churn with the acid of intense dislike and disgust.

Disgust at his perfect face and his perfect skin and his perfect horse.  Disgust as his waste of treasures that could feed dozens of families on mere tack when a simple woolen blanket would serve just as well.  Disgust that he rode in like some sort of deity to rescue her people and expected them to bow down before him in supplication as servants of his rule over this land.

Everything about this man was exactly the opposite of what she admired.  Wealth and power were his forte, but he had done nothing to earn her respect or admiration beyond flaunt and cajole and flick his pretty hair back in the wind.

She barely gave thought to her response. "Thank you, my lord Caranthir.  However, my mind is now set to leave the shadow of the mountains, and go west, whither others of our kin have gone."* Rather than stay here beneath your thumb so that you might taunt us with your lavish wastefulness and rule over us like a king!

His eyes darkened, but seemed hardly deterred.  If he sensed her fury, he made no motion to soothe its scalding inferno. "Peace, then, my lady Haleth.  I will not keep you here against your will.  But give it some thought, for it is not an offer I made lightly or in jest, but in admiration.  It is a great honor."

And his words only stoked the flames.

She should be honored that he wanted to usurp her authority and scavenge her people into starvation so that he could decorate his saddle with sapphires and rubies and silver?

She had met enough men of this ilk back across the mountains to know better than to accept fiefdom from any self-appointed local ruler.  Knew that giving her people over into the hands of such a prodigal creature of wealthy, beauty and selfishness was asking to not only be shamed and humbled, but to be used and taken advantage of until all resources were bled dry.

Until they were little more than his slaves.

And Haleth, daughter of Haldad, was as strong-willed and free as any of her male kindred.  Perhaps more so than any of those before her.  For she would not be governed by this man or any other!

"I will think on it," she spat, "but I will not change my mind, lord Caranthir."

Venom could not have been more potent upon her breath and voice, but he seemed not in the least poisoned by her bellicose manner.  Instead, he reined in his steed and, without so much as a fare-thee-well, rudely rode off to rejoin his hosts in their gleaming silver armor and dark clothing inlaid with jewels.  She watched him ride away, her incisive gaze piercing between his tense shoulder blades, hoping her message to stay away was loud and clear.

But, in truth, she knew this would not be the last she saw of him.  Lord Caranthir would be back.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As you might guess, this is probably a "part one" of two detailing the original meeting of Caranthir and Haleth--this one pre-dates "Transparent", but the second one, assuming I ever get around to writing it, will happen right in the middle of "Transparent".  In any case, I haven't written this pairing for ages, and the prompt... why on earth my friends give me such strange prompts is beyond me!

Anyway, forgive Haleth for actually being rather racist and assuming she knows everything about Caranthir without ever meeting him.  I can imagine that, even if he wasn't mocking her, the rest of his men probably were as disgusted by the "humans" as they seemed in the story.  It has been demonstrated, if on openly than at least implied, that elves are ever so slightly racist and derisive towards the After-comers.  In any case, Haleth is judging based off her personal experiences, and she is a prideful woman.  More prideful than Caranthir, that's for sure!

Because this prompt and story ended up being so strange, it was difficult to find music for today.  I ended up picking Legacy from World of Warcraft OST, credited to Jason Hayes (mostly), because it had a certain sort of flavor to it that was neither happy nor sad nor angsty nor depressing.  It's... spicy?  I don't know how to describe it.  It just sort of fit her mood.  I had a similar song on my mind, but it was too seductive... maybe for the next round, yeah?  They'll run into each other again, and Haleth will no doubt be ready and vindictive.